Ink and Iris
by MissHikaHaru
Summary: Haruhi owns a flower store, and just to the right of it is a tattoo parlour. It's run by a single artist, a tall young man with black hair and few words. Every day she sees him sketching, and is caught between her curiosity and his complacency with being left alone. After seeing his work, she's still more intrigued - especially after a cryptic compliment to set her heart in motion.
1. Chapter 1

"Thank you, have a nice day!" I waved after the couple as they walked away together, hand in hand, the man kissing his wife on the cheek as she held the bunch of red roses he had just bought from me. I smiled as I turned away, clipping a few drooping leaves off the magnolia display. They fell to the ground with a dull rustle, chinks of sunlight patterning them as it shone through the various table legs and flowers that made up the front of my shop.

It was a lovely Spring morning, sunny yet crisp, and just cool enough to see your breath if you could be bothered to stop and watch it rise. The street, as usual, bustled with life: my favourite coffee shop just opposite was packed with chattering teenage girls on their phones, and businessmen and women tick-tacking away on their sleek black laptops and tablets while they sipped their drinks for extra bursts of money-making motivational energy; stretching down the lane were all manner of buildings - there was the game shop, crawling with young boys and their mothers that they had forced inside to try and beg them for the latest shooter game, and the post office, and just past that was a craft store, and then the toy store, and the shoe store. To the left of my humble flower shop was a jewellers, that I often liked to admire when I had spare time - though there was no way I could afford anything that came from that window display. To the right of me, which I liked to admire even more, was a tattoo parlour.

It was a small shop, yet it always seemed to have customers. From what I'd come to hear, the single artist that ran the parlour was extraordinarily talented and was the kind of person you honestly wouldn't expect to be in such a line of work. Though that was what people said, I found it just a smidgen difficult to believe the second opinion - as he was my neighbour, albeit one I hardly knew, I knew _enough_ to find him a hardly surprising candidate for his trade; he was tall, messy haired, with more ink visible than skin, and just a tad intimidating. Not to say that I judge by appearances, but he honestly did look like what you'd imagine a tattoo artist to be.

As mentioned, I knew actually very little about him - I'd recognise him by sight, but not by name. Every lunch time we both seem to set up shop for an hour in unison, and both make our way to the coffee shop directly opposite. He buys an Americano and a blueberry muffin, and sits in a seat by the window, sketching in a dark blue leather-bound book as he picks away at his muffin. He never really seems to notice anyone around him, too busy with his pencil darting across the page. Watching him has become a habit of mine by now; I get my vanilla latte and my cinnamon swirl, and observe him as he silhouettes himself against the street beyond the glass.

Other regulars in the shop usually avoid sitting in his direct vicinity because of his off-putting appearance - older people, especially, who often comment disapprovingly on his tattoos. I don't agree with them though. His tattoos are wonderful - a black and white dragon snakes its way up his left arm, surrounded by sakura blossoms, and an array of white lilies and constellations of stars dot the other and weave up his neck on one side. I always wonder whether he did them himself, though at the same time I don't know how it could be possible to work so intricately at such difficult angles. I've never asked him, though I'd like to - but at the same time I never want to interrupt him. Whenever he draws there's this odd look in his eyes, and though I've never seen him smile, he always seems to be happiest when he fixes himself to that sketchbook.

The only time I _can_ engage him though is when he's drawing - being so much taller than me, he makes it to the coffee shop far before I do, and when we leave there's a horde of eager people outside his shop waiting to be inked up so he's back in his parlour in an instant. I don't really think it pertinent to call on him after hours, even though our apartments are right next to one another above our shops. I guess it's not the end of the world, but all the same - I wish I knew just a little bit about someone who spent their life so close to me.

As I went to the coffee shop today, however, I was surprised to find myself doing so alone. I resumed my usual seat, and had managed to finish my food and drink without realising it, and yet still he hadn't appeared from his parlour. Though I tried to drag it out, it was obvious to the barista that I had finished, and there was nothing more for me to do but leave for my shop. It was almost time for me to open for the afternoon, anyway. As I waited for the light at the crossing to turn green, I saw the door to his shop open. A girl walked out, surrounded by a group of excitable friends. They were all admiring her shoulder, and as I crossed the road I was able to catch a glimpse of her new tattoo. It was a purple iris, with ink so delicate and bright it looked like the flower had just sunk into her skin and become a part of her. A translucent watercolour design surrounded it, like a beautiful abstract painting. I could hardly believe that something like that could have been done using only a needle and some ink. It looked so real. I now realised just what had taken him so long, for it was a truly elaborate design.

I didn't realise I had stopped to stare until the girls had moved on and I was left standing outside his shop with somewhat of a glaze over my eyes. I was about to move on and return to my own shop, but then the door opened again and the artist himself walked out. He seemed surprised to see me, but bowed his head in a polite sort of greeting. For a moment I didn't respond, before blurting out, "That iris was beautiful!"

He stopped, and turned his dark head to look at me. The faintest trace of what could have been a smile was at the very corner of his thin lip.

"Thanks," he said in a low, soft voice. I smiled awkwardly and, assuming he'd rather have his coffee than talk to me, turned to leave him in peace. "I draw them from you, you know."

"What?" I asked, looking back over my shoulder. He points to my shop, where a window display reveals a mass of irises in a large vase at the very front of the horde of flowers that could be seen beyond. I notice the blue book is held under his arm.

"I sketch your shop sometimes. I hope you don't mind."

"Oh - no, go ahead! I've seen some beautiful things from your shop, so I'm glad to help," I replied.

"I've seen some beautiful things from your shop, too," he said, and - with what could _just_ have been another smile at me - he crosses the road and enters the coffee shop, the bell above the door tinkling behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

Just like the day before, the sun shone in vain attempt to warm the street below, catching the breath of its occupants so that it glittered like snow. The weather was a little too chilly for my taste, so I had packed up my flowers and was keeping them safely inside - making my shop more crowded than it already was. Practically a maze of petals and smells, I wound my way through it as I sipped my red mug full of tea, occasionally tipping the old pewter watering can into a bucket that needed a top-up.

Sometimes I stumbled across a customer or two, and I asked them if they needed any assistance. A small blonde boy, perhaps in his early teens, dressed surprisingly smartly in a suit and tie, was frowning with great intensity when I came across him.

"Hello, there," I said brightly to the boy, setting down my watering can at my feet and crouching down beside him. "What are you looking for, then?"

"I don't know which one to get," he replied, his oddly high voice strained as though it were a matter of deep suffering. His eyes, big and brown, were fixedly flicking from left to right like the pendulum on a clock, looking from one pot in his hand to the other. Two tiny cacti plants, his hands so surprisingly small that they fit quite snugly in his palms, were the perpetrators of his distress; one that was tall and sparsely spiked, and one that was squat and spiny like a hedgehog.

"Hmm…" I intoned, assuming a frown as big as his. "Well, this _is_ a bit of a pickle, isn't it?" He looked at me, seemingly very confused.

"They're not pickles, are they?" he asked, "I thought they were cactuses…?"

I laughed, and he seemed to realise my use of expression. He smiled, a little awkwardly, and his already cherried cheeks flushed like a pink rose.

"Which one do you like more?" I asked, and he didn't waste a second in answering.

"Oh, it's not for me - it's for my cousin. It's his birthday in a few days, and I've been wondering for _ages_ what he might want. He loves flowers and stuff, but he's kind of a… well, I don't know how to say it, but I wanted something that would match his personality because he's really cool and edgy - I mean, not _edgy_ -edgy, but yeah." Suddenly he looks almost sad. "He's really popular, as well. He always gets _loads_ of gifts from loads of different people, and they're usually expensive, so I - I just really want something that he knows is from me... I mean, yeah, I _could_ get him something really big and flashy, but that isn't _him_ , y'know? That's why I want to get him something small and personal, because I know he doesn't like shallow things or shallow people. I want…"

He took a moment to consider the pots in his hands again, clearly still very undecided. He looked up at me again, an edge of hopeful shine in his eyes.

"I just want something that he wants."

"That's very thoughtful of you," I said softly, and he smiles. He proffers the two pots to me.

"Which one would _you_ want?" he asked, surprising me a little. "You're the expert on flowers - so which one would you pick?"

"Well…" I frowned, looking from one to the other. I turned my gaze to the shelf on cacti beside us, and caught my eye on a tuft of pink near the back. "To be honest, I'd probably choose…" I bent forward and extended my arm to the very back of the shelf, closing my hand carefully around a slightly larger pot. I withdrew myself from the precarious ridge, seeing the confusion on the boy's round face. "This one."

"Ooh…" he cooed, almost in awe of the round, spiky plant that now perched between my hands. Almost a perfect sphere of green and yellow quills, it sported a bunch of bright magenta flowers at its top like a rather extravagant hat.

"Echinocereus Pulchellus," I smiled at him, seeing the evident excitement in his face. "It's like a cross between both of those two, isn't it?" He nodded, hastily replacing his previous choices back on the shelf - his quibble with them quite out the window now. "And it has these nice flowers on top - he likes flowers, right?" Another nod. "Little bit edgy, don't you think?"

"I love it," he replied instantly, and I smiled as I handed the dark red pot to him. He positively beamed. " _He'll_ love it! Thank you, _thank you_!"

"Would you like me to gift wrap it for you?" I asked, straightening up and beginning to lead him away through the maze of vegetation to the main counter.

"Yes, please!"

Once there, he hands me back the pot and I scan the bar-code at its base with the usual loud beep of the machine.

"So when is your cousin's birthday?"

"In three days."

"The fifth, huh?" I sliced off a sheet of red tissue paper and carefully wrap the pot, creasing it in the way I had done many a time before to perfectly surround it and flare from the top. "Right in the middle of Spring. That must be nice." I pulled off a long strip of white ribbon from a reel beneath the counter and tied a bow to secure the paper. "I certainly hope the weather gets warmer for it." Picking it up carefully, I slotted it into a large brown paper bag and passed it across the counter to him. "Here you go."

"Thank you so much," he said, rummaging in his trouser pocket for his wallet.

"That'll be ¥950, please."

I hold out my hand, expecting to be given a handful of notes or coins. I'm surprised to find a credit card being pushed into my outstretched fingers. I flick my eyes over it and then at him, but decided it best to trust him - he didn't at all seem to be the sort to steal credit cards, in the very least.

"Did you borrow this from your dad?" I asked as I slid the card into the machine. He giggled, shaking his head.

"Oh, no - that's mine. I keep forgetting to get a new one, so thank you for reminding me." I pause as he types in his pin number, surveying him with confusion.

"How old are you, exactly?"

He looks up and smiles sheepishly.

"Don't worry, I get it a lot - I'm actually twenty-seven." I stared at him, and he laughed. "Leap year birthday," he added, as if this flawlessly explained the fact that he looked quite literally half his age. He loops one of those tiny hands through the handles of the bag and slides it off the countertop. "Thanks for everything."

"Have a nice day," I called feebly as he walked away, still highly confused as to his whole being.

After his departure my day was somewhat normal. I continued tending my plants and other customers, and closed up for lunch at half past one as usual. And, as usual, the moment I set foot outside I was instantly in tandem with my neighbour. Unusually, however, I didn't immediately see him overtaking me with his massive strides.

"Hey."

I looked round as I adjusted the bright red scarf around my neck, seeing him with one of those large hands raised in greeting. The other was in his jacket pocket. There was no sign of his sketchbook.

"Oh. Hey," I replied, and he seemed to take this as an invitation to approach me. I was surprised to find him engaging me in conversation without particular reason. "How are you today?"

"Can't complain. You?"

"Just a little hungry, really."

"Shall we?" He tilted his head in the direction of the coffee shop opposite.

"Sure."

We walked together across the road, and he held the door open for me when we reached the little café.

"Thanks," I smiled as I passed him, and the little bell tinkled as he entered after me. We bought our drinks and snacks as always, and as I went to sit at my normal table I tried to untie my scarf. It slipped from my shoulders to the floor, and I bent to pick it up. Before I could do so, it was already being proffered to me by my dark haired neighbour.

"Mind if I sit with you?" he asked as I took it back, and I set my Styrofoam cup down on the low table.

"Uh, yeah, sure, go ahead," I said quickly, and he inclined his head in thanks. We sat almost at the same time, and for a moment it seemed that neither of us were sure about how to go about talking.

"Thanks for what you said yesterday," he said at last, catching me by surprise as I took a sip of my latte. "It really made me happy."

"You're welcome," I responded, and his mouth twitched a little. He almost smiled, but then he put his cup to his lips. "I meant it though - you really are so much more talented than I would have expected. I haven't really seen much of your work before."

"Whereas I'm _always_ seeing your work."

I frowned at him slightly, sitting a little more upright in my chair.

"It's nothing special," I assured him, turning my gaze to my fingers that fiddled with the scarf in my lap. "I wrap up flowers, and that's it. It's so simplistic that I don't even have to put in all that much effort. I mean, I enjoy it, sure, but it's nothing like what you do. It's not a talent…"

"You're wrong." I looked back up at him, taken aback. "You know… I've never seen anyone leave your shop without a smile. You make people happy, almost effortlessly. And that's a talent not many people have."


	3. Chapter 3

After that I was surprised at how easy it was to talk to him. He didn't say much, but almost all of what he did say was interesting to me. Once you got over the general appearance of tall, tattooed and vaguely intimidating, he was actually a genuinely polite and considerate person to be around. He had hobbies like kendo and sometimes karate, and then some more unexpected ones like watercolour painting and cooking. Apart from that, his main interest seemed to be learning more about me: other than his name and his interests, there wasn't much more that he revealed about himself before we had finished our meals.

"I should probably get going," I said as I drained the very last of my coffee, setting the empty cup down on the table. "My shop isn't going to run itself." Takashi - for that was what I now knew his name to be - inclined his head in agreement, raising his inky wrist and flicking his dark eyes over the gently gleaming silver watch.

"I should go too," he agreed, rising to his feet and walking round to draw back my chair for me. "I'm already late for my next appointment."

"You should have said!" I said quickly, jumping up and staring from him to the window, through which I could see a girl with blue hair peering into the parlour as if checking to see if Takashi was actually inside. "I've gone and made you late, I'm so sorry – I knew I shouldn't have babbled on about God knows what for so long – "

"It's fine," he assured me, pulling his arms through the sleeves of his leather jacket and pulling up the zipper. He put his overlarge hands into its pockets and his lip curled fractionally in a smile as he watched me rush to tie the scarf around my neck. "I actually really enjoyed listening to you." I paused, looking up at him in surprise.

"Oh, well, I thought I might have started boring you at some point," I admitted, resuming the never-ending battle of scarf versus neck.

"Not at all," the artist replied, tucking my chair in under the table and taking the two empty cups and snack wrappers and tossing them nonchalantly into a nearby bin. He turned to me momentarily to hold up a hand in farewell, before beginning to back away toward the door. "We should do this again sometime."

"How about tomorrow?" I asked, and his smile grew ever so slightly wider.

"Can't wait."

I raised my own hand to wave him goodbye, and he turned on his heel and briskly exited the café with the littlest tinkle of the bell above the door. I stood behind the table and watched as he crossed the road, shaking the customer's hand and unlocking the large glass doors to the parlour. Before he entered after his customer he paused, as if somehow aware that I was looking at him: he turned his head a little and his dark grey eyes almost seemed to catch mine. He smiled, nodding curtly as though in acknowledgement of me. Before I could respond, a double-decker bus pulled across the road and blocked the shop from view. By the time it had passed, Takashi had disappeared to his craft.

Another moment or two I wasted on lingering, before - somehow with a greater inclination to smile - walking toward the main counter as I fumbled for my wallet from within my pocket. I dropped a random handful of pennies into the surprisingly bare mug for tips. Shrugging, I pulled out a note and tucked it under the coins for the barista - it was no skin off my back to give them a little something nice.

"Thank you," I heard a voice call as I opened the door, a cool breeze brushing my face as I looked back. I smiled and nodded at the girl behind the counter as she poured cream into the cup of the old man she was serving, before stepping out into the street and letting the door swing shut behind me.

As I approached my shop I reached for the key within my bag, but when I took hold of the door handle I was surprised to find it unlocked. Narrowing my eyes, I pushed open the door and slowly closed it after me. It creaked gently as it always did, and once closed the hubbub of the street beyond became muffled by the plants that absorbed the sound like curtains. Wondering whether or not I had been broken into - for whatever reason a person might like to steal flowers, or rob the humble apartment just above - I softly began to pace through the maze of greenery, picking up a compost covered trowel from a pot nearby in case I needed some form of self defence.

From what I could tell there was no sign of a disturbance at all, but there was an odd scent in the air that was more than just the all-encompassing perfume of the flowers - though this smell was flowery too, it was artificially so. I almost thought I could put my finger on it, but not quite, as I neared the counter and till. The till itself looked exactly as it had done when I had left it before lunch, and I was just about to lean over the counter to check if its door had been opened when a blur of yellow burst up out of nowhere.

"Surprise!"

"Tamaki, for the love of - "

I had leapt back in shock, brandishing the gardening tool, only to be faced with my idiot of a best friend and ex-roommate. He stood there, rocking with laughter at the sight of my face, as I stared back at him, perplexed as to how he - of all people - could have broken and entered into my store. I dropped the trowel onto the counter and irritably unwrapped my scarf.

"How did you get in here!?" I asked, throwing the scarf into his face. "I thought you were in France!"

"I was, until recently," Tamaki explained, resurfacing from the mass of red tartan and fixing his coiffed-to-perfection fringe with the usual charismatic flick of one of his well manicured hands. "Besides, you gave me the spare key months ago, remember?"

"Yes, but not for you to just drop by whenever you feel like it," I said, exasperated, as I walked round the counter to envelop him in a hug. "It's for emergencies only, you - "

"But this _is_ an emergency," he rushed to say, gesticulating animatedly from the moment we drew apart. I raised my eyebrows at him, and he continued earnestly, "I found this amazing shop on the Champs Elysees with Kyoya when we were in Paris, and I needed your approval on this dress I bought you."

"Tamaki, did you seriously come all this way to - "

"Trust me, I know what I'm talking about!" he interrupted excitedly, taking hold of my hand and beginning to drag me toward my own apartment as though _he_ were the tenant and I his guest. It was at this point that I found myself questioning how we had ever managed to live three years together after university. It was little wonder I had agreed to his desire to move out to pursue a more extravagant lifestyle - not that he hadn't tried to do that beforehand. I still hadn't forgotten the minor heart attack I had suffered when he announced that he had sold the kitchen appliances to pay for a weekend trip to New Orleans because he wanted to go to Mardi Gras.

"You're going to love it," he told me as he brought me upstairs and sat me down at the - thankfully still furnished - kitchen table. I sighed, wondering how on earth such a capricious fool could still lavish such things on himself and his friends without going bankrupt. It was lucky he had friends like Kyoya, with high-paying, professional careers, to support his every whim, for Tamaki - as a freelance author and aspiring stage actor - was certainly not financially stable enough to do anything by himself.

"Tamaki," I began to say as he disappeared into the living room, "You know I don't wear dresses." The incorrigible blonde reappeared with a large white box in his hands, which he set opposite me on the small round table.

"I know," he replied, standing beside me like a puppy waiting to be given a cuddle. "But you know how cute I think you are, Haruhi - and I missed your birthday because I was in Italy over February, so it's just a late birthday present."

"You already got me a birthday present," I said, frowning as I pulled the box tentatively closer. "Remember - you came back at the start of March and gave me three Venetian masks and a book of pasta recipes." Looking quizzically up at him, I saw he was blushing and looking away in a very not-so-subtle way. I raised an eyebrow. "You've got to be the worst person with excuses I have ever met."

"Okay, so maybe I don't have any reason for it!" he exclaimed loudly, pouting like a bratty toddler.

"There's no 'maybe' about it, Tamaki," I laughed, lifting the lid from the box. "So, let's see the damage this time…" Laying down the lid and pulling back a few flimsy layers of white tissue paper, a bright red dress of a soft, flowing fabric was revealed. Neatly folded, it was impossible to tell what it really looked like. Taking hold of it by the shoulder straps, I lifted it from the box and let the skirt fall with a gentle rustling noise. It fell to my knees and flared ever so slightly, in ruffles up the waist, where it was drawn in by a red velvet sash.

"So, do you…like it?"

"It's beautiful," I admitted, laying it back down in the box. I looked at him and smiled, wondering how it was possible for a person to be so sweet and yet so stupid. He looked uncertain as to my reaction, so I sighed and hugged him.

"Oh, thank God…" he mumbled.

"Thank you, Tamaki."

"Don't mention it."

"But did you really cut short your trip for me?" I asked, letting go and surveying him with folded arms.

"Not entirely," he conceded, laying the lid back on the box and sitting down on the chair I had vacated. "Kyoya got called back for work, so I came too."

"Oh," I said, shifting uncomfortably. "Would you like some coffee?" I asked, turning hastily for the cupboard above the stove and bringing down a pair of mugs before he could answer.

"Didn't you just have some at lunch?" he said, but I shrugged.

"Guess I just want some more, then," I replied cheerily, setting down the mugs and filling the kettle with water.

"I probably shouldn't, though," Tamaki told me, and I heard him getting to his feet behind me. "Kyoya's back at my apartment, so it's time I got back to help him unpack. We only got in an hour ago, so - "

"He's at your apartment?" I asked, turning off the water and staring over my shoulder at him. "Kyoya's - "

"Ah, I forgot to tell you!" he said, ruffling up his hair at the back. The look on his face seemed far more excitable than I would have thought it should be. "Me and Kyoya live together now."

"Oh…"

"Yeah, he said the city life was getting too stressful for him so he's moved out here to live with me like we did at uni."

"Right," I said, uncertain how to properly respond to the fact that _he_ now lived only a few streets away from me. "Okay."

"You guys are still in touch, though, right?" Tamaki continued, practically oblivious to my discomfort. "I mean, the three of us were closer than anything! And I could never forget you two in that last year before he and I graduated - back then you two were inseparable - "

"Until we separated," I said under my breath, and Tamaki's air of excitement at the prospect of we three friends returning to our student selves dissipated. He looked at me, a kind of apology in his big blue eyes.

"Until that, yeah…" he agreed, tucking his hands into his jean pockets and sighing as he leaned against the stove beside me. "Still, no reason we can't all get on just because you two aren't… you know…"

"I guess," I said, running a hand through my cropped brown hair and scratching the base of my neck. "It's probably just because - "

Suddenly I heard a muffled _ding_ from downstairs, and it took me a moment to realise it was the little customer bell I had placed on the counter for when I was lost amid the foliage. Until that point I had almost completely forgotten I owned a shop. And, evidently, so had Tamaki.

"Give me just a second," I said to the blonde as I made for the stairs down to the shop.

"No, it's my fault," Tamaki apologised as he followed suit, "I probably shouldn't have come by so soon - I just wanted to surprise you."

"It's okay," I assured him as I opened the door at the bottom of the stairs, hurrying over to the counter. "Next time just - oh…" I stopped, looking directly over the countertop to see Takashi standing there, a bunch of pale pink roses in his hand. He was looking around when I saw him, as though trying to spot someone, but when he saw me he seemed reassured. "Hello, again."

"Hey," he said, stepping up to the counter. "Sorry to bother you."

"No, it's fine," I smiled, and Tamaki stepped up to me.

"I'll see you around, Haruhi," he said, planting a friendly kiss on my cheek and waltzing out of the shop in his usual manner. I raised a hand to wave him out, and Takashi's eyes followed the exuberant blonde questioningly.

"Is that your boyfriend?" he asked as he turned back to me. I started laughing.

"Just an old friend," I replied, folding my arms and surveying the roses in his hold. "What can I do for you, then?"

"I'm just having a consultation with this girl about what she wants," he explained, "and she said she'd seen these in the window. I don't usually like to work from online images or anything, so I figured I'd just come over and buy them myself."

"You can just borrow them if you like," I offered, as he made to scoop the wallet from the pocket of his tattered black jeans. "Really, you don't have to pay or anything - I'm happy to help out."

"It's okay," he said, dropping a couple of crumpled notes upon the counter and smiling fractionally. "Keep the change."


	4. Chapter 4

The next day, though warm and sunny, was almost entirely uneventful. Customers flitted in and out at odd times as though blown in by the wind, and the sun shine through the windows to cast green patterns through the leaves: a number of tiny rainbows swathed the walls as the light passed through drops of water on the glass.

I received my usual monthly delivery of supplies near midday, and had set about putting them away in any spare corner I could find within the already bursting shop. Humming to myself as I went about my work, I didn't notice the quiet creaking of the door as it opened and closed.

"Are you ready to go?" I heard a low voice ask from over the counter. I looked up from my spot on the ground, midway through stuffing a bag of compost beneath a lower shelf. Takashi was there, leaning on the countertop and surveying me and my dirty face and hands with mild expectation.

"Evidently not," I replied with unintentional irritation directed toward the sack that refused to just budge into its proper place: like a lazy fat cat, it was doing everything in its inanimate power to do the opposite of what I wanted. If I pushed from the centre, the ends popped out, and vice versa. There was simply no winning any time soon.

"Do you want a hand?" Takashi asked, and I shrugged.

"It might just need one, actually," I said, sitting back on my heels and folding my arms tetchily. I looked up at him and added, "If it's not a bother."

"It's fine," he said, hopping the counter with an air of surprising gracefulness: I supposed it was the athlete in him, as he crouched beside me on the earth-strewn floor. Even crouching down he was twice my height, which – I thought to myself – simply didn't seem fair with regard to genetics. I'd always wanted to be tall, because I feel like then my life could be so much easier and full of mobility: it's hard to be utilitarian about a deficiency of height.

Nonetheless, I smiled at him in genuine gratefulness.

"Thanks," I said, as we both placed our hands at opposing ends of the sack and pushed together. With a satisfying thump, the large bag was sandwiched between two shelves, with no hope of popping itself free without assistance.

"Don't mention it."

He stood up, wiping off the small excess compost on his tattered jeans. I marvelled at just how different he was to Tamaki, who actively avoided getting even a single speck of dust on himself and shamed me as a devil for my - and my shop's - 'appalling lack of cleanliness'. It was nice to have found a kindred spirit - in the sense that Takashi, unsurprising by the aesthetically-controlled chaos of his attire, didn't mind getting just a little messed around by what the day threw at him. In the very least, he didn't get his nails seen to every week and a half.

"So, are you ready now?" he asked, and I stopped as I straightened up to look at him. Once again he was expectant, and I was wondering just why he was so eager to be off with me for such a casual occasion as coffee. He reminded me almost of Tamaki's dog as she paced the front door, tail thundering from side to side, to be let out to chase the cars. Perhaps, I thought as I continued to stare with mild confusion up into his dark grey eyes, he and Tamaki were not so dissimilar after all.

"I'm kind of gross right now, Takashi," I pointed out to him, indicating to my earthy hands and cheeks, thinking that I'd attract more stares to our table for my slovenly appearance than anything else. As someone who seemed to be somewhat of a loner, I figured that Takashi wouldn't want that.

"I hadn't noticed," he shrugged, leaning back against the counter and twitching the corner of his lip in a smile at me. I cocked my head to one side confusedly, then looked down at my dungarees and shirt – both of which had been a pale blue that morning, but now were mostly brown, with various patches of green from a leaf or thorn that had decided to tag along for the ride. I couldn't help but feel somewhat sceptical with regard to his statement. I raised my head and opened my mouth to speak, but he interrupted, "You look most comfortable like this. I think it's what makes you feel the most like you."

I paused a moment, then smiled.

"I think so too," I replied. He nodded thoughtfully, then pushed himself upright and flicked a piece of hair back from my face.

"You look cute like this," he said, his deep voice softer than I was expecting. Before I could respond, he put his hands in his jacket pocket and shirked his head toward the doorway. "Shall we go, or do you still wanna clean up a bit?"

I shrugged.

"I guess I don't mind it too much," I conceded, and he smiled very slightly.

"Alright, then."

He seemed so adamant about being off, that I followed his footsteps without question. I locked the door behind us, and he immediately began asking about my day as we made for the crossing at the side of the road. It almost seemed as though he had been waiting since the previous afternoon to engage me in this kind of conversation, and it was then that I realised what an endearing and unseen side of his personality could come to life after such a short time actually knowing one another. I wondered how it could be that such a silent and unapproachable individual was so willing to engage with someone who found interest beyond what he appeared: even though he spoke very few words, and no more than were necessary, he was genuine in his interest and manners.

By the time the traffic had slowed to allow us to cross, and we had entered the warm glow of the café, I realised I had forgotten my wallet.

"I'll be back in just a second," I said, making to open the door again. "I left my – "

"I'll pay," he said, and I looked over my shoulder at him.

"It's just across the street, really it's not – "

"I don't mind. Coffee's not that expensive anyway." He moved to the bar and tapped the countertop absently, casting a glance my direction as I still stood midway between entering and exiting, "It's a vanilla latte, right?"

"I…"

"And a… croissant?"

I looked from him, to my shop window, and then back. I sighed.

"Cinnamon swirl."

He smiled.

* * *

As we spent that hour together, I couldn't help but think that – despite the fact he said actually very little – it was like he was trying to fit in many hours' worth of conversation, like today was his last day on earth to get to know me and make up for the previous year or so we had been living side by side in silence. This idea drifted in and out of my head on an undulating trickle of thought, and the little questions it posed weren't really answered until he realised he was once again late to return to his customers.

"We need to get you an alarm or something," I said as he rose from his chair.

"Doubt I'd pay attention to it," he answered, "I'd be listening to you instead."

I rolled my eyes, but smiled nonetheless as I stood too.

"So, same time again tomorrow, or…?"

His face, primarily cool and chiselled as it was, took on an expression of near apology.

"I'm actually away in Osaka for the weekend," he said, and I unexpectedly felt a little saddened. "It's my – " He paused, as though catching himself, and cleared his throat. "Family thing, you know."

"Don't worry about it," I assured him, and he shrugged vaguely as if to indicate he'd really rather not be off for a 'family thing'. Without really responding, he started shifting toward the door with that same mild irritability. Thinking I needed to also get back to work, I went with him. The traffic lights allowed us across almost immediately, so within seconds we were outside our destinations.

"I hope you enjoy yourself, anyways," I said as we made to part ways for the next few days.

"Thanks, Haruhi."

"Have a safe trip."

"You stay safe too."

"I'll do my best," I smiled, turning the key in the lock and pushing my way into my little shop. Closing the door after me I saw him still standing there, looking after me, and I raised a hand in farewell. He smiled and nodded in acknowledgement, before entering his own shop.


	5. Chapter 5

The following two days passed with little to no excitement, the only occurrence really being the unexpected, and unfortunate, decline of the weather. While before it had been chill for the start of the month, the heavens had cleared decided May was going to be dreary this year. Rain plastered the windows day and night, so much so that I decided it hardly worth my while to find and umbrella to cross the street for lunch – especially after seeing one woman outside getting soaked through to the skin by a sudden blast of puddle water as a car sped past. Instead I retreated up to my apartment, sitting on the countertop by the kitchen window and gazed out across the wet and windy rooftops, slurping up a bowl of chicken noodles, feeling a distinct sense of emptiness in my stomach. It was almost like I was lonely, but couldn't quite think why.

Perhaps it had something to do with Takashi's absence, even though we'd only very recently become friends. It was nice though, to have someone there to brighten everyday life, just a little bit. He really had always interested me, and now he actually was a part of my routine – even for such a short time thus far – that routine felt oddly out of step without him to walk me across the road.

As I wrinkled my feet in their thick woollen socks, leaning back against the fridge and smiling blankly out the spattered glass, I wondered how the weather was in Osaka. I hoped it was sunny for him. And I hoped that he was enjoying his 'family thing', however disinterested he had appeared in the coffee shop on Friday afternoon.

Lowering the near-empty bowl into my lap, I silently wondered what it is he was doing. Probably just a family reunion, the sort that few people enjoyed: the type with all the ancient uncles and aunts and grandparents that all cluster together at the dinner table, commenting about the irritability of the millennials, and cooing 'My, haven't you grown!' a thousand times through the meal; coupled with the stand-offish older cousins, rather wishing they weren't there and being forced into conversation by the elders; or else the younger cousins, the six-to-thirteen year olds that demand and command attention through all three courses, kicking their feet under the table and bouncing on their chairs, clinging to your arm and talking a lot about their favourite videogame or some other childish topic that barely holds conversation longer than a few minutes as the parents down glasses of moderately priced wine.

Or maybe I was wrong, and it wasn't the lively (yet not entirely pleasant) kind of family event most people knew. Maybe he came from a grim, boring, business-enthused family in their grey suits and grey dresses and grey conversation: maybe that was why Takashi was so expressive with his work and attire, because he had grown up so crushed by austerity. I imagined him sitting at a long, thin, polished table, surrounded by sombre faces noiselessly sipping greyish soup with robotic poise, conversing monotonously about politics and Takashi's state of reckless abandon with his appearance. At the thought of this, memories of dinner with Kyoya's family warped to the forefront of my mind and I sighed impatiently, turning my face away from the window. I took the bowl up in my hands and was about to jump down from the counter when another thought struck me.

What if he was visiting a girlfriend?

I paused for a moment, unsure why this made my stomach drop. Then I shook my head, continuing to clamber off my perch. Of course he wasn't, I told myself: why would he not want to visit her? Besides which, why was it my business where he went and why? It wasn't, anyway.

Hastily I gulped back the last few mouthfuls of now somewhat lukewarm noodles, and placed the bowl in the sink. Readying myself to return downstairs, I jumped when the phone rang. I hurried over to the table where it rested, and pulled the receiver to my ear.

"Hello?"

"Haruhi, hi!" Tamaki's voice sounded from the other end, and I rolled my eyes at the prospect of another one of his three-hour calls.

"Tamaki, I'm about to open again for the afternoon," I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "Is there something you need really quick, or…?"

"That's exactly what I need, actually," he replied, and his voice suddenly turned apologetic. I didn't need to see his face to picture the puppy-like pout that had spread across his face. "I…um…I didn't leave my house keys at your apartment, did I?"

"I…I don't think so…" I said, frowning. "I haven't exactly been on the lookout, have I? Why do you think they'd be here?"

"Well, after I visited you I found myself, uh, mysteriously unable to get back into my house."

"That's an understatement, Tamaki, and you know it!" resonated a voice I hadn't heard for years. My stomach convulsed instinctively.

"Is that Kyoya?" I said quietly, feeling my free hand clench of its own accord.

"Hm? Oh, yeah! Hey, Kyoya, come say hi to Haruhi!"

"Tamaki, really, I'm already running really late," I hurried to say.

"That's okay," Tamaki replied brightly, quite unaware of my discomfort. "You can see him later: I'm out to the theatre tonight, but if you find my keys could you drop them off here? I'm sure Kyoya will let you in."

"Tamaki, I'm going out tonight too, remember?" Kyoya interjected.

"Yes, but you're leaving a whole hour after me!" Tamaki whined, "Haruhi, would you maybe be able to drop them by about eight so Kyoya is still there?"

"I… um…"

"Please?"

I paused a moment, then sighed.

"Yeah, I guess. Sure."

"Great!" he said, "I'm sure he'll be happy to see you again! Anyway, you've got to go, don't you? Have a nice day, okay?"

"You too. Enjoy the show."

"Love you, Haruhi."

"Love you. Bye."

Without sparing even half a second I rammed the phone back into its stand, sighing heavily. I ran a hand through my hair again, straightening up and glowering at the wall opposite. Just hearing his voice annoyed me, let alone being surprised with an evening encounter. I decided then and there that if I did ever find Tamaki's godforsaken keys I would make sure to drop them off at a time of night when I'd regrettably missed the tenants' departure. They didn't live too far away, about five blocks or so: I could set off about half nine and be there to drop them through the letterbox, and very quickly be done with it. There didn't need to be any bloodshed.

* * *

Once I closed shop for the day at six, I decided to search about the store and apartment for Tamaki's keys. As it turned out they had found their way under the kitchen table, no doubt having fallen out a back pocket as he leapt around in his usual animated way. I retracted myself from the somewhat dusty floor, thinking how much I needed a spring clean but repulsed at the idea of just how much effort it would be.

I dropped the keys beside mine on the table top to assure I didn't lose them again, though it would have been difficult to misplace them considering their extreme embellishment from a vast assortment of glittering souvenir keychains from his many extravagant travels. Checking my watch told me it was barely seven, so I had a good two hours at least before I had to set off to conveniently miss my bespectacled nuisance. Pushing the thought of him from my mind, I poured myself a glass of wine and set about making a nice long dinner, to which I could dance around the kitchen to music playing from my laptop on the counter.

It was always one of my favourite ways to relax, cooking being a great passion of mine outside my love for flowers. When I was a little kid my mom would teach me all these amazing traditional dishes, but I was never able to make them quite like she did. I always did my best though, especially when she was first gone. It had been a coping method, a way of trying to maintain normality. Cooking was a way to keep me grounded, and the sounds and smells were almost therapeutic now I was an adult with all kinds of stresses throughout the day. Getting to do my own thing and invent new dishes, usually dancing at the same time, was perhaps my favourite part of it all.

Obviously, the actual best part was eating it. With a refilled glass of wine and a belly full of warm spices, I stretched out on my sofa in utter contentment, quite forgetting about my night-time errand until an alarm on my mobile sounded at half nine, interrupting my haze of flicking absently through the channels on my TV.

"Gotta do what you gotta do," I sighed, swinging my legs from amid the cushions and pushing wearily to my feet, taking care not to step on the plates and cutlery I'd accumulated on the floor from my meal. Stretching, I paced from the living room into my bedroom with a slight yawn. I pulled open the wardrobe and took out a pair of boots, pulling them over my enormous woollen socks. I retrieved a jacket and my red tartan scarf that hung limply over the bedstead, pulling my arms through the sleeves and roping the heavy tartan around my neck. I dashed into the kitchen and retrieved both mine and Tamaki's keys from the table, taking the small black umbrella out the stand in the narrow hallway.

Once outside, shielded by the striped red and white awning above my shop, I locked up the front door. It was far colder outside than I'd expected, and I shivered from a cold night wind blowing down the street as I pitched up my umbrella. Zipping up the jacket pocket containing both sets of keys, I set off down the street toward Tamaki's house near the centre of town.

My feet caused large ripples in the carpet of puddles that covered the tarmac beneath them, droplets splashing upward and soaking the bottoms of my jeans. The streets were emptying steadily of its usual occupants, a number of restaurants still bustling with warmth and light, protected from the cold and wet that was driving away everyone else who had nowhere to go but home. One block down I saw a man and woman with their arms about one another's waists, sharing an enormous navy umbrella as they headed toward the entrance of a pub just down the street. They laughed openly together, the rich sound rippling with the wet acoustic of the clearing street.

As I passed the pub, the door opening to admit the pair, I caught snatches of raucous, drunken laughter and bottles clinking. The windows were bright and smoky, and through the musky panes I saw a group of ruddy-faced young men waving after me. I turned my eyes away and carried on walking briskly, tucking my scarf a little tighter into my closed jacket now that the wind was picking up.

In another ten minutes I was outside my destination, and it was the only house on the street with its lights out. I lingered a few moments on the street before the path to the front door, gazing up at the surprisingly ominous building that had previously been sweet and homely in the daytime whenever I had visited. Now, illuminated electric orange by the streetlamps, I almost dreaded going up to the door I'd entered many a time. A cold wind rushed by, shaking me out of my reverie. Quickly I hurried up the short stone path and up the three front steps to the door, unzipping my pocket as I went: once there I retrieved Tamaki's keys and raised the letterbox flap, creaking as it went. I dropped them through the gap and, satisfied, turned to return home.

As I reached the street corner, preparing to turn back the way I had come, another, stronger wind came by and turned the umbrella inside out with the sheer force of it. I tried to pull the inverted frame back down, but succeeded only in snapping it.

"Damn…" I muttered tetchily, ripping it back irritably and folding it shut, tucking the useless thing under my arm. Resigning myself to the inevitably of getting soaked, I carried on my way at a swifter pace. By the time I was passing by the pub again I was wet through to the bone, hunched over against the cold and arms folded in to my chest. I heard the sound of a door opening behind me, and the loud chatter and music of the bar flooded out, to the accompaniment of three men cheering and laughing. I looked back over my shoulder at them, and saw it was the ones who had waved at me through the window.

"Alright, darling?" one asked loudly, and I could practically smell the alcohol on his breath from ten feet away. I didn't respond, only resolutely looking ahead and quickening my pace.

"Oi!"

"No need to be so cold, babe!"

The three sniggered dumbly, and I thought I heard their footsteps tracing mine. Inclining my head fractionally, I could see out the corner of my eye that they were indeed following me. I walked a little faster, moving my right hand down and into my pocket, closing around my keys with the sharp edge pointing out from my fist.

"You do look kinda cold though," the third continued to call, their heavy footsteps spattering through the puddles after me, "Why don't you come with us somewhere nice and warm, huh?"

"No, thank you," I said resolutely, wondering if it was too soon to break into a run. "Go away, please."

"Well, ain't you polite?" they said. "You're cute."

"Leave me alone."

"Oh, come on, baby!"

Without warning they had caught up to me, stinking of beer and cigarettes. One had taken hold of my left elbow and was pulling me closer to him, another moving round to block my path. I stopped, looking between the three of them with utter disgust.

"Leave me alone," I said again, anger in my tone now. They laughed, and I felt a presence at my back that told me the third was right behind me. I felt his hand on my shoulder, starting to trace its way downward.

"You've got a nice body," he said, his friends grinning darkly. I shuddered, clenching my fists tightly and withdrawing the hand from my pocket warningly.

"Bet it'd look even nicer out of these big old clothes," added the one before me, his eyes slipping from my face to the zipper at the top of my jacket. "What do you guys think?"

"I think it'd be real fun if you came and had a couple more drinks with us back at my place." The grip on my elbow tightened, and my stomach flooded with revulsion.

"I've had enough now," I said loudly, raising myself to my full height, "I'm not going to tell you again: leave me alone."

"Babe - "

"I'm not your babe," I hissed, raising my foot and stamping down hard on the toes of the man behind me. He cried out in pained surprise, recoiling from me. In the confusion I tore my left arm from the other's grip, and kicked him back when he staggered over toward me. He fell with a great splash into a deep puddle by an overflowing gutter, swearing violently. I was about to lash out at the man before me, but he had seized hold of my wrists and was holding me there. Angry and afraid now, I struggled with him for a few moments but was too weak to push him back: instead I twisted out my arms, making his hands twist along with them, until his grip slackened and I ripped myself backward. Before he could wring out his aching hands, I shad raised my keys and had sliced them across his face.

He stepped back, clutching his face and shouting out: when he drew his hands away they were bloody, but the wound was not deep. I didn't stay to deepen it, instead beginning to run down the street. He wheeled about and grabbed the trail of my scar as it fell loose from my jacket¸ tightening about my neck and causing me to lurch backward. In my attempt to loosen its hold of my neck I raised both hands to it and began fumbling feverishly with it to push it up and over my head, and in doing so I unknowingly let my keys slide from my grasp and onto the pavement: they were almost immediately caught in the flow of the overrun gutter, washing away down the drain.

Managing to untie my scarf, it slipped back from my head and released me, leaving it dangling from the man's hand as I sprinted off down the street, rain stinging my face. I could hear them racing after me, enraged, and I threw myself round the corner onto my street. The rain by now was so thick I could only see twenty feet in front of me, but as I approached my shop I saw a pair of lights shining like beacons coming down the road. Car headlights.

The car pulled up by my shop, and when the door opened a tall figure stepped out onto the street with a suitcase. Heart beating in my mouth, I realised almost instantly who it was.

"Takashi!" I shouted, and the figure instantly looked in my direction.

"Haruhi - "

"Help me!" I said, skidding across the ground as I tried to stop, tripping over my own feet and falling into him. "Help me, please!"

"What's wrong?"

But Takashi had already caught sight of the men running down the street towards us, his eyes narrowing. He reached inside his back pocket and produced the set of keys to his shop, pressing them into my hand.

"Get inside," he said in a low growl of a voice, "Now." I nodded quickly, reaching for his suitcase but he dropped it back inside the taxi and slammed the door after it. "That doesn't matter right now. Just go."

"What about you?"

He cast a glance down at me, and there was a fire in his eyes.

"I've got something to take care of. And I don't want you here to see it."


End file.
